I’ve been sleeping on a new mattress.
No squeaks, no crater in the middle yet. It’s one of those models where someone can drop a bowling ball next to you and you wouldn’t feel it.
Due to the high tech awesomeness of the mattress, I can’t be sure that a bowling ball has never landed next to me. The mattress isn’t much of a security system – I’d have no idea if an intruder was on the bed next to me. I’ve been sleeping well, even in spite of suspected secret bowling ball drops.
It brings to mind a creepy haiku I once read:
Surrounded by things
I’m the only thing in my home that sleeps.
Everything else in here, things meaningful to me, draw no breath. My computer, which seems to me to be most ‘alive’ never sleeps. Besides my deep night breaths, my home is filled with cold digital clocks and the scarcely audible ticking of wrist watches scattered on my dresser.
I understand why people get pets. If you put your hand on the chest of a cat between its forearms, you can feel the unmistakable warmth of a beating heart.
It’s only lonely when I think about it. On any Tuesday night, I’m not lamenting that I don’t have a crying baby to care for or a moody spouse to contend with.
I was created with an innate easiness with being alone. It’s not often that I need to be around people, though it is often that I need to be alone. Today I felt that I needed to ‘get out of the house,’ so I went to the store. After three minutes in the store, I felt the need to get out of there and go back home. I scratched the itch.
(It’s been a year since I officially documented my WalMart-O-phobia, and I’m reporting that it still exists in full glory!)
Maybe I won’t always be the only living thing in my home at night. It may not always be this way for me, but maybe it will. Whether I’m sharing it or not, I’m glad to have my new mattress and the soft yet incessant ticking watches.